


Frozen in Time

by Fritillary



Category: Myst Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 15:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18672679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fritillary/pseuds/Fritillary
Summary: These Ages are waiting, waiting for those who will never return.





	Frozen in Time

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal, originally written 21/Dec/2009
> 
> 1000 words exactly, & exactly 100 words per paragraph!
> 
> With thanks to all the wonderful video walkthroughs on youtube, which meant I didn't have to dig out my old copies of the games to remind myself of Selenitic and Channelwood. I've put the ages at the end if any one feels like guessing.
> 
> Prompt: #162 - stalemate, august memory challenge (tamingthemuse @livejournal)  
> Warnings: spoilers for Myst, Riven, Myst III Exile, Myst IV Revelation and Book of Ti'ana.  
> Rating: T for mentioned (canon) character death

I.  
Perpetual twilight gleams off the rocks, turning dark stone peaks a myriad of reds and golds. The ocean here, stretching as far as the eye can see, is neither blue nor grey, but a perfect reflection of the burning sky. The entire world glows with the flames of its sun. Within the lonely tower, four linking books surround the cage, closed and silent, but one lies open. The panel flickers and flares silently under the artificial light as dark clouds chase bright flames across the surface – the link is dead; its adjoining world consumed by the power of the Fissure.

II.  
Life is abundant here – from the chattering mangrees in the flourishing jungle, to the gentle zephyrs picking their way through the crowded swamp, to the hunchbacked camoudile prowling among the grasses of the savannah. Many years ago, the balance of the Age’s nature was disrupted, first by the arrival of the Hunter – bearded and vicious - and then by the murder of the giant predator of the Age, but the world has since recovered. The circle of life is maintained indefinitely. Nothing changes here and the Age waits; predator and prey, herbivore and carnivore, deadlocked under a humid sun-bleached sky.

III.   
Delicate linen-white clouds drift idly across a pure blue sky. The sea is stirred by a stiff breeze; waves washing against the cliffs and skipping up the beach. Sheltered from the wind, the lake forms a perfect mirror to the sky, disturbed only by the occasional flicker of fish. Four pale tusks rise from the rock, the largest topped by a circular room, panelled in gleaming maroon and forest green. This Age has never known native inhabitants - only a prisoner, trapped by the greed and wickedness of others has lived here and he, like his captors, is long gone.

IV.  
An Age in darkness. Sealed shut by fallen debris, this room is all that remains lit – its lanterns powered by a technology lost in the mists of time. The archways of the eight doors, once finely painted and inlaid with delicate stones retrieved from a thousand other Ages, have crumbled and faded. The tiled floor is marred by a jagged crack that cuts the room in half from ceiling to floor, scattered with chunks of the walls and ceiling. The air is dry and dusty like the tomb the Age has become – a monument to the lives its fall claimed.

V.   
Thick mist surrounds the sharp black rocks in the darkened sea, obscuring the more distant peaks as the grey sea batters the worn planks of the broken ship, and the fish swarm beneath the ocean’s swell. Deep within the cliff-face, behind watertight doors, the candlesticks and chandeliers are still lit in abandoned rooms. They are markedly different in appearance - rich elegance and coats of arms mounting the doorway, in sharp contrast to dark minimalism of panelled walls. Still the murals remain as bright as the day they were painted, the beds neatly made in anticipation of their occupant’s return.

VI.  
Sounds flood the Age; the bubble of the brook echoes between the red leaved trees, while the wind whistled through the tunnel beneath the caldera lake. The rusting barriers of the walkways tremble with the constant rumble of the flaring chasm below, in contrast to the unreliable ticking of the clock by the lakeside path. Red clay urns mark the steps down to the garnet columns, the crystals singing their endless tune into the surrounding fog that masks the distant corners of the island. The satellites turn slowly atop their mast, searching for the only light in this lifeless world.

VII.   
The island, once stretching for miles, has sunk completely beneath the waves, but the storm that heralded the enemy’s approach has ended since the last natives disappeared. The water swirls around the giant cogs and between the supports of Atrus’ fortress. The tiled corridors stretch throughout the main building, illuminated by the hourglass-shaped lanterns. Elaborate blades and sharpened maces decorate the walls that hide a secret room, suspicious flasks and an electrically charged cage. Down the metal-lined hall, an empty chessboard stands beside the carven throne, while a royal couple stare coldly down from their engravings across the abandoned chamber.

VIII.   
The wind sings through the sweeping arches and twists about the pillars, carven by ghostly hands. The Age has never had a true native, though the prisoner it held wandered these halls for twenty years, kept company only by the thunderstorms that still growl and clash in their violet clouds above and below. The hanging vines sway gently in the breeze, their delicate fruit bulbs ripening in the cool air. No-one shall ever taste them again, for the way to the castle in the sky is lost. Suspended in relative peace between the cloud layers, the crystal palace floats on.

IX.  
Two boys used to play upon this lawn, wrestling and chasing one another around the rough pines, their small feet pattering along the wooden dock, watched fondly by an old lady seated in a wicker chair in the bright sunshine. Their mother would bring out drinks and cake to the small table by the old woman’s side, and their father would drag himself from his library to talk and laugh with his family. It was an Age filled with life, but only death remains, and the island hears nothing but birdsong and the gentle wash of waves against the pier.

X.  
The frogs croak in time to the aching whine of the boards and ropes, lulled by the sway of the sea around the tree trunks. The rain patters down from a solid grey sky, making the all-encompassing lake surface shiver. The bare trunks run with water, barely shielded by the sparse pine needles at their apex. It is perfect for the dark moss growing thickly everywhere, contrasting with the sickly grey bark of the dying trees. The windmill turns slowly on its lonely rock, winding the battery at its base to light the way for residents that have long fled.

**Author's Note:**

> Ages, in no particular order: 1) 93rd age, 2) Haven 3) J'nanin 4) K'veer 5) Stoneship 6) Selenitic 7) Mechanical 8)   
> Spire 9) Myst 10) Channelwood.


End file.
